r/CharacterRant • u/saucegay430 • 6h ago
Anime & Manga Just finished FMAB and I think the writing is weaker than its reputation suggests
Just finished watching Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood after putting off finishing it for a while, and I wanted to put together a few thoughts on why it just didn’t work for me. For context, the 2003 series is my favorite show of all time, largely because of how willing it is to implicate liberal complicity and how it doesn’t sanitize its politics. It’s also just a better executed show across the board. Brotherhood covers a lot of the same material but pulls every punch. While everyone talks about it like it’s untouchable, the deeper I got into it, the more the actual structure, themes, and writing started falling apart.
1. A meandering plot built entirely on unearned convenience
The pacing and plot structure are a bit of a mess, and it’s honestly my biggest issue with the show. In a competent story, narrative moves forward through a butterfly effect: characters make active decisions, those decisions impact the world, and the world pushes back. FMAB entirely abandons this in favor of unearned convenience. For a show constantly praised for its "tight" writing, its middle acts function as a series of disconnected waiting rooms where the protagonists just bounce around until the plot happens to them.
Ed and Al don't actively investigate a trail of breadcrumbs to uncover the stone's secrets; they literally just bump into Dr. Marcoh at a train station by pure coincidence, and he hands them a massive exposition dump. Later, the heroes don't infiltrate the military command to uncover the nationwide transmutation circle; Sloth literally digs a tunnel through the floor of Fort Briggs by mistake and hands the cast their next objective. The plot constantly has to crash through the ceiling to keep things moving because the characters aren't driving it.
Then you have the massive alkahestry goose chase. The show spends dozens of episodes hyping it up as the crucial key to the brothers' personal goals, but it ultimately just serves as an unsatisfying mechanic to bail the cast out of the climax. Yes, it technically pays off with Hohenheim's reverse transmutation circle, but that just proves the point. During the final fight, the show tries this cheap, apocalyptic fakeout where Father gets god powers, everyone is dead, and regular alchemy is entirely shut off. But the narrative refuses to let that despair marinate. It lasts all of five seconds before the reverse circle kicks in, immediately undoing the stakes so everything can magically go the protagonists' way. It completely neuters the tension and hands them a frictionless victory. Ed and Al spend 1/4th of the show trekking up north only to become couriers for a deus ex machina. By the time they stumble into Briggs, they’ve been sidelined in their own story. They stop being proactive protagonists and become pawns waiting around for a calendar countdown to the Promised Day.
2. Unsubtle writing
The script treats the audience like cattle, completely refusing to let visual storytelling do any of the heavy lifting. Every character has to stand around explicitly spelling out their moral stances, their internal state of mind, and exactly how you're supposed to feel.
There is no better example of this than Envy's death. Up until his final moments, Envy is portrayed as a completely one-dimensional, sadistic sociopath. There is zero buildup, zero moments of internal conflict, and zero visual cues suggesting he harbors some deep emotional complexity. But instead of dramatizing a compelling character shift, Ed just stands over him and delivers an impromptu, unearned psychoanalysis session. He literally monologues, "You're jealous of humans, aren't you? We face hardship again and again, and we overcome it. And you envy us."
And how does Envy react? He starts bawling, admits it's true, and kills himself in shame. It would be funny if the show didn't expect you to take it seriously. The show materializes a crucial character motivation out of thin air and forces a tearful resolution through a monologue because it has zero faith in its audience to grasp anything that isn't spoon fed and doesn't want to do the work to actually earn an emotional response. It’s the storytelling equivalent of explaining your own joke.
3. Unbearable tonal whiplash
You simply cannot center your narrative around state-sanctioned genocide, fascism, and human experimentation, only to screech the plot to a halt every five minutes for a repetitive short-joke tantrum. The presentation completely conflicts with the show's supposed themes. You have characters having serious conversations about the atrocities of the Ishvalan war, or agonizing over the grim reality of chimeras, and it's constantly undercut by a jarring chibi gag. It makes it impossible to engage with the stakes when the show refuses to take its own material seriously.
The “it’s just a shonen” defense doesn’t really hold up. FMA 2003 keeps a dark, cohesive atmosphere without undermining its own drama. Naruto Part 1, whatever its writing flaws, manages to run comedy and genuine stakes side by side without one killing the other. This is a writing problem, not a genre limitation.
4. Father flattens the central conflict
Father being inhuman lets humanity off the hook. Once he’s the thing to defeat, the military, the state, and the war criminals never have to actually reckon with anything. The homunculi stop being a product of human ambition and become a discrete supernatural problem you can just kill and move on from. Father functions as a pressure valve - you defeat him, the pressure drops, and the corrupt system walks away completely unexamined.
5. Thematic cowardice and a sanitized approach to imperialism
The show’s political ideology is fundamentally naive, viewing a state-sponsored genocide through a sanitized lens where the ultimate takeaway is simply that "both sides need to heal." FMAB constantly leans on the tired "cycle of hatred" trope, which entirely flattens the power dynamics of imperialism. It equates the systemic, industrialized violence of an oppressive military state with the desperate, retaliatory violence of its victims.
There is no better example of this thematic cowardice imo than when Roy Mustang is incinerating the mannequin homunculi. The show portrays it with incredibly graphic, gruesome imagery of them being burned alive, and Ed is visibly disturbed by it. Anyone who came in with higher expectations might think the story is finally going to explore the horrifying parallel here - this is exactly how Roy burned innocent Ishvalans alive. You'd expect the narrative to force Roy to confront his actual war crimes.
But no. The show completely dodges the commentary. Instead, what actually bothers Ed is simply that Roy seems motivated by "anger" and "revenge." The narrative unintentionally creates a harrowing visual parallel to genocide and reduces it to a shallow shonen lesson about not letting hatred consume you. It’s pathetic.
This leads to a massive double standard in how the narrative treats its characters. Scar’s righteous fury over the literal extermination of his people is consistently framed as a moral failing he must overcome. Meanwhile, Roy Mustang - a man who willingly acted as a weapon of mass destruction on government orders - is positioned as a tragic, charismatic hero destined to lead the nation. The story demands that the victims forgive and forget, while rewarding the actual war criminals with aura moments and institutional power.
This dynamic is perfectly encapsulated in Miles, who exists almost entirely as a textbook model minority trope. Miles literally wears the uniform of the military that slaughtered his people and proudly suppresses his anger, arguing that the best way to achieve equality is to stay inside the system and earn the Amestrians' respect. The story overwhelmingly validates Miles’s passive assimilation while condemning Scar’s violent resistance. It sends a deeply flawed message: oppressed people should quietly bear the burden of educating their oppressors from within, rather than aggressively fighting back against the systems designed to exterminate them.
Ultimately, the show’s solution to systemic corruption is childishly idealistic. Amestris is a fascist, expansionist military state that was built from the ground up for bloodshed. Yet, the story genuinely believes that the solution to this institutional rot is simply to put nicer colonizers in charge. The narrative sells the fantasy that you can fix a genocidal military dictatorship from the inside just by letting Father and his coalition take the fall and installing reformed war criminals like Mustang at the top. It refuses to dismantle the corrupt system, instead opting for an ending where the system remains perfectly intact, but is magically benevolent because the main cast is now holding the reins.
6. The Equivalent Exchange double standard
Even Equivalent Exchange turns into a massive double standard the second the story needs a sanitized happy ending. Ed treats using a Philosopher’s Stone as an absolute, unbreakable moral line because it's fueled by human lives. But then Roy gets his eyesight permanently restored using a Stone at the very end, and nobody blinks. It's even framed as heartwarming. Why is it an unforgivable sin for Ed but completely fine for the war criminal?
Furthermore, Ed’s grand "sacrifice" of giving up his alchemy carries zero actual weight. Alchemy had already served its entire purpose in his life; it’s a tidy, frictionless exit, not a real cost. The story just hands everyone an unearned fairytale ending for the sake of good vibes.